


Mighty, Mighty Men

by become ethereal (s_ilverblood)



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Alcohol, Bar fights, Fluff and Smut, Frotting, Graphic Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Smoking, blows jobs???, but you're going to love it, graphic death, i think that's what it is anyway idk, i'll add more tags as stuff comes up, i'm going to tease you with really short chapters, implied teddy bear on fire, just basically a lot of gay, just some guys being buds, semi public blowjob, some explicit stuff, there's going to be some fluff, violence kink, which is great, who doesn't love a good bar fight honestly, who doesn't love some gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-07-10 06:30:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6970018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/s_ilverblood/pseuds/become%20ethereal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>some glimpses into the very exciting life of maccready and the sole survivor as they traipse around the commonwealth fucking shit up. also they're going to fall in love. may or may not be chronological but i'll try to have it make as much sense as possible. i'm really rusty on this whole fanfiction thing, can you tell? there'll be some smut, some fluff, some crying probably. who knows! MXM SLASH DON'T LIKE DON'T R - haha jk this isn't 2005. just read it. i love you. bye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rorschach Test

Rowan knocked a tin can out of the way with the butt of his rifle, searching through the pile of junk before him with a frown. He made a noise of discontentment, and crouched down to get a better look. 

“What’re you looking for this time, Boss?” MacCready asked from his place on the couch, his nose buried in a Grognak comic he found earlier. Rowan figured he was probably far-sighted based on how close he held the comic to his face - maybe he needed glasses, which was ironic, for a sniper. He’d seen a lot of things in the waste, but an optometrist wasn’t one of them.

“Anything.” Rowan grunted in response, giving up his fruitless search and instead dropped himself down onto the couch beside MacCready, stirring up a whirlwind of dust and dirt as he did. He batted the cloud away with one hand and leaned the rifle up against the side of the couch.

“What’s Grognak up to this time?” He mused, letting his head fall back and examining the kaleidoscopic patterns of rot in the ceiling. 

“Oh, you know. Kicking as-” MacCready caught himself fluidly, “butts.”

“Does that splotch on the ceiling look like a skull, or is it just me?”

MacCready looked up, following Rowan’s line of vision. He shrugged. “Maybe. Kind of looks like a rotten ceiling to me.”

“If this were a Rorschach test, I wonder what that would say about my state of mind.”

“A what test?”

“Nevermind.” Rowan closed his eyes instead, folding his hands across his chest and taking a deep breath.

The room, like most of the wasteland, smelled like someone had dumped rancid piss onto old library books and raw meat and left it to marinate for 200 years. He was used to it now, but to begin with, Rowan had to wear a bandana over his mouth and nose just to keep himself from feeling nauseous. 

They sat in silence for awhile, Rowan just barely conscious. He drew up memories, some of rolling green hills, soft grass swaying in the wind, the smell of sweetgrass, walking barefoot, his childhood dog splashing with him in the river outside of his house. What he wouldn’t give to be submerged in the sweet coolness of that river now.

He heard MacCready close the comic and shift a little to get more comfortable. Rowan reached out his awareness from the past to the present, feeling out the warmth of the mercenaries closeness, hearing the gentle hiss of breath rushing out from between his teeth. 

Although no one in the wasteland smelled good, Rowan didn’t mind the scent of MacCready - like oiled leather, gunpowder, and sweat. He even found it oddly comforting, even the faint scent of blood on his breath - bleeding gums from the rads. Besides, it wasn’t as if Rowan smelled good, either.

“Did you grow up in the Commonwealth?” MacCready asked, feigning nonchalance. He usually didn’t ask Rowan much about before the war, although Rowan wasn’t sure why. He figured maybe he just didn’t care to know.

“I’m from further west. Montana, originally. My Father was a military man. When I was thirteen he was reassigned to a post in New York.”

MacCready was silent for awhile before he spoke again. “Did you join the military because of him?”

Rowan slowly opened his eyes and considered the skull on the ceiling again, rolling his answer around in his mouth before spitting it out. “Yes.” He pushed himself up straight and glanced at MacCready, who was staring at the cover of the comic. Rowan shrugged, looking down at his fingers, long and slender. Steady. “I didn’t have much of a choice.”

“Seems to me there must have been more options back then.”

Rowan considered it, but shook his head. “For some, yes, but not for me. I didn’t have the priviledge of many options.” Knowing that MacCready wouldn’t understand, he continued. “I’m what was called First Nations.” He explained, turning his hands over to look at his palms. 

“I’ve read about it.” MacCready interjected, which surprised Rowan. He nodded, settling his hands on his legs and looking at the mercenary. MacCready watched him with a careful fascination.

“Well, the colour of your skin meant a lot more back then. And the darker it was, the fewer chances in life you had. But, well,” Rowan tried to lighten the mood by grinning. “The military would take just about anyone.”

MacCready nodded his understanding. “Seems a bit bizarre. No one seems to care about skin colour now.”

“No, they care more about how well you can shoot a gun.” Rowan agreed, and pushed himself up from the couch. “Which, luckily, I am very good at.” He grabbed his rifle and shouldered it, collecting his pack from the doorway. “Let’s move out.”


	2. The Rexford

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rowan catches MacCready letting off a little steam.

The door to the room they’re sharing at the Rexford is open a crack when Rowan returns from stocking up on ammunition. He isn’t sure why, but something makes him pause outside, fingertips barely on the handle. He can see MacCready across the room, in a peculiar sort of position. He’s leaning forward against the dresser, left forearm lying along the top, right arm down by his side. His back is hunched and he appears to be trembling a little. Rowan’s first thought is that he’s in some kind of pain, possibly even crying.

He is just about to open the door to find out, when he hears the smallest stifled moan leave the mercenaries lips. As if to silence himself, MacCready bites down into the arm of his jacket.

Rowan freezes, covering his mouth. _He’s jacking off._ A hot shiver runs down his back right into his cock, which twitches to attention.The realisation hits him in a way he wasn’t exactly expecting, and he forces himself to back up a step, keeping as silent as possible. _What the fuck?_ He asks the sudden throbbing in his pants.

He presses his back to the wall outside the door, taking a few deep breaths and telling himself to walk away. Go back down the hall, downstairs, have a drink, give the man some privacy. Come back later.

But he doesn’t move. Instead, although he is begging himself not to, he listens. The dresser is jiggling a little on the uneven floor as MacCready exerts himself, little breaths and pants and groans muffled by his jacket. Rowan is still cursing himself as his own hand slips down, giving a single long stroke to himself through his pants.

_No, no, no._ He manages to at least stop that, crossing his arms and looking both ways down the hall to make sure no one has seen him. Inside the room, MacCready’s movements speed, and then he is gasping, broken and soft. It’s quiet, then, so Rowan takes a peek inside. The mercenary is wiping himself off with something, but it’s hard to tell from his current position. MacCready stuffs something into an inside pocket of his jacket and does up the zipper on his pants. Then leans both hands flat on the dresser, taking a few deep shaky breaths.

Rowan ducks back, head pounding in time with his heart, cock throbbing as his thoughts stray over what he’s just seen. He stands taller, adjusts his pants as best he can to hide his predicament, and creeps back down the hall.

It’s been so long since he’s even thought about sex. Any time he tried all he could see was Nora, with her softly smiling eyes and puckered lips. He’d been with her for so long that she’d become his definition of intimacy, and trying to think of anything - or perhaps more specifically, _anyone_ \- had seemed impossible. Until now, it appears.

_Calm down soldier._ He chastised himself. After a few minutes, he started back toward the room, this time going out of his way to make his presence more known. Once he was back at their door, he rapped his knuckles a few times.

“Yeah?” He heard MacCready call from inside. Rowan slipped the door open and let himself in.

“Got more ammo.” He offered by way of greeting, taking the boxes out of his pack and stacking them on the table between the two sorry looking single beds. MacCready was sitting on one of them, back against the headboard, boots off and legs crossed, disassembling his rifle for cleaning.

Rowan cleared his throat, feeling his face go hot. He turned away, grabbing some stout from a collection of assorted bottles on the floor and cracked the top of it off using the clasp on his belt. The cap bounced to the floor.

He slumped into the chair and raised the bottle to his lips, taking five long hard gulps.

“Everything alright, boss?” MacCready asked, watching him.

He nearly choked in response, staring at the bottle in his hand. “You bet, kid.” But he was finding it impossible to look up. Instead, he set the stout down and reached for his hair. Since leaving the vault, he’d grown it long. He hadn’t seen a point in maintaining his military shave anymore, and he wanted to do something to reconnect to his origins. It’d be almost a year now, and the deep brown waves fell just below his shoulders when it was loose.

Rowan carefully unwove the braid he usually kept it in, distracting himself from looking anywhere near MacCready. _You’re being a fucking child._ He chastised himself, fanning the hair out over his shoulders and rubbing at his scalp.

He picked up the bottle again, taking a few more swigs.

“What’s the plan for tomorrow?” MacCready asked, not looking up from his dismantled rifle. He was polishing the barrel with a cloth and grease, working his hand up and down, up and down…

Rowan shifted in the chair, suddenly acutely aware of his dick again. He pulled one knee up in front of him, trying to hide any proof. All he could think of was MacCready’s hand moving -

“Uh, I was thinking of maybe heading back to my place near Sanctuary for a few days.” He picked at the label on the bottle. The glue that held it in place had dried and crumbled long ago, so it pulled off easily. “Since the Institute trail has gone cold again.” Rowan sighed, bitter at his own words. He took the last few swigs from the bottle and watched MacCready reassemble his rifle and set it aside.

He wiped the grease from his hands down his thighs. “Makes sense.”

“I figure we’ve done pretty well lately,” Rowan continued. “Got enough caps to last us awhile. Getting back out there and working some more on the place might be nice. Not sure about you, but my nerves are shot after our last few encounters with the ferals.”

“A break’ll do you well.” MacCready acknowledged. “I can pick up some work around here and -”

“You don’t want to come with me?” He tried to keep the urgency out of his voice. He'd gotten so used to having MacCready watching his back; he didn't like the thought of braving the wasteland alone.

“Oh, hell. I didn’t realise that was an invitation.” MacCready dragged a hand through his hair, letting out a shaky laugh.

“I don’t mind paying you for it, if you’re worried about that.” Rowan added quickly, not wanting to overstep. They did have a professional relationship, even if it had settled into something closer to a friendship as of late.

“Nah, it ain't about getting paid. I just thought you wanted to be alone, is all. I’ve nearly got more caps than I know what to do with, thanks to you.” MacCready grinned. “It could be nice to put the gun down for awhile.”

“So you’ll come?”

“Yeah, ‘course.”

Rowan relaxed, pleased. He stood up and grabbed the pack of cigarettes sitting on top of the dresser. He lit one, taking a slow, deliberate drag.

“Toss me those.”

He tossed him the pack, and once MacCready had one to his lips, Rowan lit it for him. He marveled at the gentle ease with which MacCready handled it, grease stained fingers more graceful than you’d expect.

“Thanks.”

Rowan remembered to look away, nodding. Now that he was standing, he felt the warmth of the alcohol in his blood.

“Can I check the map on your Pip boy?” The mercenary asked, sitting back with crossed legs again. Rowan removed the device from his arm and passed it over. MacCready attached it to his own wrist, strapping it in place, cigarette hanging precariously between his teeth. He adjusted the dial so it was focused on the map.

Rowan took a drag from the cigarette and watched. He’d never smoked until after waking up in the vault, but with things like Super Mutants running around everywhere, cancer didn’t seem like much of a concern anymore.

“Here it is, look.” MacCready shifted over against the wall so that there was room for both of them on his bed. Rowan sat down beside him, leaning over so he could see the place on the map that the mercenary pointed to.

“Old comic shop,” He explained enthusiastically. “It’s on our way, or near enough. Think we could stop in? I’m sick of the comics I’ve got now.”

Rowan laughed, and it eased some of the tension in him. “Sure.” He leaned back, watching as MacCready absently scrolled across the map, looking at all the places they’d gone.

After awhile of sitting in comfortable silence, Rowan stood up and blotted out his cigarette in the ashtray. “I'm tired.” He said decidedly, rolling his bedroll out on top of the other old mattress.

He thought he felt MacCready’s eye on him as he took off his armour and undershirt, but quickly dismissed the idea. Surely not.

Rowan settled himself down, tucking his jacket under his head as a pillow. MacCready switched off the light, and without another word they went to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, lovelies! i'm going to try posting once a day or every other day. hopefully :D subscribe if you like, and comments are always always always loved and appreciated. have a great day! ♥


	3. A Room Full of Ferals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goddamn ferals.

Somehow, midway through clearing out an old house, they managed to run out of bullets. Rowan could still hear the ferals pacing in the next room, their haunting growls making his heart beat hard. Both he and MacCready were magic with a rifle, but hand to hand combat? Not so much. 

Take this, combined with MacCready’s past with ferals, and he was worried the mercenary was about to have some kind of breakdown.

“We’ll have to sneak out.” He whispered to him, hand gripping a wrench - the only ‘weapon’ he had beside his rifle and pistol. Rowan was seriously considering adding a bayonet. 

“I don’t like this, boss.” MacCready answered, wringing his hands.

“We don’t have another option.” Rowan replied calmly, peaking through a hole in the dilapidated wall to see the four ferals inside. “Follow my lead.” He crept forward, past the hole. Ahead, there was a giant portion of the wall missing where the doorframe had once been. They had to walk directly by it to get to the exit. Rowan sunk low, waiting until two of the four ghouls were looking away to slip by it. He made it, and paused on the other side to gesture for MacCready to follow. He did, but halfway across the gap his boot caught on an exposed nail, and he fell on his face.

He landed with a thud, and then glanced up at Rowan, a look of pure terror on his face. At the same time, the ferals turned toward them.

Rowan let out a cry and rushed forward, blocking their path toward MacCready and swiping back and forth with the wrench. He hit one in the head, and the wrench broke right through its rotten skull, spraying blood and soggy bone everywhere - including Rowan’s face and chest. That one dropped to the floor as another swung for him, blackened nails reaching for his throat.

He kicked it in the stomach, sending it sprawling backwards and then whacked another one in the mouth with the wrench. It knocked the bottom of it’s jaw off, but didn’t stop it from lunging at him. He fell backward, legs and arms flailing upward wildly in an attempt to shove the feral off of him. He succeeded, and, jumping to his feet, he stomped it in the head until it was reduced to twitching, stinking, mass of overripe flesh.

MacCready yelled something that Rowan didn’t understand, just as the feral he’d kicked moments earlier came back at him again. This time he swung the wrench with both hands, hitting the thing in the neck and decapitating it in one fluid motion.

He spun, seeing MacCready struggling with the last feral, kicking at it as it reached down for him.

Coming from behind, Rowan dropped the wrench and grabbed the ghoul by the shoulders, throwing it off of MacCready and then kicking it in the head and ribs, screaming at it in a blind adrenaline-fueled rage.

Once it had stopped moving he cursed, turning to look at MacCready who was standing against the wall shaking. 

“Are you alright?” Rowan asked, tugging his bandana down from around his mouth and walking over to him. His shoulders were still tense, and he tried to remind himself to breathe, to calm down. MacCready looked up at him with wide, watering eyes.

“I’m, yeah, I’m okay.” He stuttered out, visibly struggling to hold himself together.

Rowan nodded and reached out, squeezing his shoulder. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” He put an arm around the mercenaries shoulders, supporting him as they made their way back out into the open air.

Outside, MacCready pulled away and braced himself against the wall, covering his face. 

Rowan let out a wobbly laugh. “Well, that was close.” He looked down at himself, boots, jacket, bandana completely covered in splattered bits of dead ghoul.  _ Gross _ . The smell reminded him of what he imaged a dog-shit-hot-bile smoothie would be like.

MacCready shook his head, still trembling. “I’m sorry, Boss.” He mumbled from between his fingers. 

“Don’t be -” He started, and then realised that MacCready was actually crying. “Hey, hey, we’re okay. We’re good.”

“I know, dammit. Damn.” MacCready turned away from him, embarrassed, kicking the wall. “I just, I...I react,” He hiccuped, wiping angrily at his cheeks. “I react like this and I,” He let out a noise of exasperation. 

“I understand,” Rowan reassured him, coming closer and lightly touching his shoulder. He rubbed his arm. “It’s okay, that was rough.” 

MacCready nodded, wiping his eyes again. He took a deep breath. Rowan, working on instinct, pulled him into a hug. He rubbed his back, nose pressed into the hair that peaked out beneath MacCready’s cap.

MacCready hugged him back, tentatively at first and then with more abandon, clutching at the back of Rowan’s jacket. 

When they pulled apart, MacCready had calmed, but didn’t meet his eyes. “Thanks for saving my life. Again.”

“Hey, no problem. Keeps things interesting.”

  
This won Rowan a laugh, and he accepted that as a small victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so the irony is definitely not lost on me that in the last chapter Rowan stocked up on bullets, and now they just managed to run out of them. Which seems like a weird thing for a couple of snipers to let happen but I kind of overlooked that for the sake of some buddy bonding. Guys. Bros. No homo. ;)


	4. Wet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's cold out there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanna just apologise in advance cause I barely edited this. It's 12 am, I'm a little drunk, and can't be bothered. Happy Monday!

They were drenched. The rain hadn’t let up for the two days they’d been on the road, and at this point nothing they owned was dry anymore. 

“Let’s check this cave.” Rowan nodded to an opening the rocky outface they were skirting. They’d been searching for some kind of shelter for the last couple hours, after having given up on making it back to Sanctuary that day. Rain made everything slippery beneath their feet, and it had them saturated and heavy. It was slow going.

MacCready took his hat off and twisted it in his hands, wringing out what water he could before putting it back on his head. He nodded, checking his rifle was loaded. He’d wrapped it in an old piece of plastic and secured it with rope in an attempt to keep it dry. “I’ve got a couple grenades if you wanna throw one in before us.”

Rowan shook his head. “Too loud.” He wiped water off his brows before it could drip into his eyes. “Might be supplies in there too, or hunters holed up for the night.”

MacCready nodded, and cocked his rifle, following Rowan’s lead as they headed toward the mouth of the cave.

Just inside they paused, letting their eyes slowly start to adjust to the darkness. There were no noises, but they both knew that ferals and mole rats were fond of staying quiet until you least expected it. 

Rowan took a few hesitant steps forward, and when nothing stirred within, he decided to switch on the light in his Pipboy. He shone it’s hazy green glow around. He could tell others had camped here before, based on the waste that was left behind. He couldn’t see any radioactive waste barrels, and his geiger counter was silent. 

_ Cover me _ . He signaled MacCready, who nodded and stopped short, rifle ready.

Further inside, Rowan kicked at the dirt floor, trying to coax out anything that might be hiding from them. It wasn’t very big and didn’t seem to lead anywhere else. Just a little pocket dug out in the side of a hill. 

“I think we’re good.” Rowan called back, shouldering his rifle. He pulled the Pipboy off of his wrist and handed it to MacCready. “Hold the light on me and I’ll get a fire started.”

He set to work, gathering little bits of dried roots, grasses, and any burn-able waste from around the little cavern. Next he laid them in a little natural divot in the floor where others had clearly had a fire. It didn’t take him long to get a blaze going. To his pleasant surprise, someone had actually left a bundle of firewood which, sheltered from the rain outside, was still dry.

Once the fire was done, MacCready switched the light on the Pipboy off and passed it back to Rowan, who set it beside his pack.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of being wet.” Rowan started stripping out of his armour and coat, settling them over the rocks near the fire. “Hopefully this stuff’ll dry out a bit before the morning.”

MacCready did the same, removing his outer layers. Eventually, they both were sitting in just their underwear, huddling in front of the fire and chewing on some jerky.

“We should have headed back to Sanctuary sooner.” Rowan sighed, gnawing on the leathery meat and hugging himself against the chill. The fire was nice, but it wasn’t enough to scare off the cold entirely, especially when he wasn’t dry.

MacCready shrugged. “Least there wasn’t a rad storm.”

They were quiet for awhile, and then MacCready laughed.

“What?” Rowan finished off his jerky and swallowed the lumpy mass. 

“I was thinking of when you started a fire with a nothing but a teddy bear.” MacCready ran his fingers through his damp hair, shaking his head and grinning.

“Yeah, that was a good one.” Rowan agreed, grinning back. 

“I just have no idea how you can always start a fire. Anywhere. With anything.” 

He shrugged. “Practise, I guess.” Rowan considered MacCready for a moment, watching him as he watched the fire. He looked so vulnerable and little without his boots and hat and duster. Not that he ever looked very big, especially compared to Rowan who was at least a foot and a bit taller, and definitely much broader. At the same time, Rowan knew anyone who thought MacCready was small and vulnerable had a whole world of pain coming to them.

Rowan thought back to his first time seeing MacCready, and how he had immediately felt a fierce need to protect him. He imagined that it had something to do with his eternal love for the underdog - as he himself had often been. 

**Rowan was drunk. He’d never been very good at holding his liquor, despite his impressive size, and that night was no exception. He was looking for the toilet when he stumbled into the back room where two Gunners with bad attitudes were shaking up some little guy for some reason.**

**“It’s been almost three months...Don’t tell me you’re getting rusty. Should we take this outside?”**

**“It ain’t like that. I’m just here to deliver a message.”**

**He couldn’t really fully understand, but he did know this room didn’t have a toilet. When the room began to spin around him, he figured it was time to take a seat. He decided to plop himself down on a couch instead, observing the scene before him with a vague interest.**

**“What the fuck do** **_you_ ** **want?” One of them turned to look at him, and then they were all looking at him.**

**Rowan lounged back on the couch, swinging one leg up beside him. He saluted lazily at them, “Don’t mind me.”**

**The three men looked at each other and then the Gunner who’d addressed Rowan shrugged. “Whatever.” He turned away again and they continued their conversation.**

**“You’re still taking jobs in the Commonwealth. That isn’t going to work for us.”**

**“I don’t take orders from you...not anymore. So why don’t you take your girlfriend and walk out of here while you still can.”**

**“Hah, girlfriend. He wishes.” Rowan muttered, pointing at MacCready. “Good one, kid.”**

**Luckily, the men - who he now knows as Winlock and Barnes - didn’t seem to hear him. MacCready did shoot him a look, though. Probably wondering who the fuck Rowan was.**

**“The only reason we haven’t filled your body full of bullets is that we don’t want a war with Goodneighbor.” Winlock (or Barnes?) continued. “See, we respect other people’s boundaries...we know how to play the game. It’s something you never learned.”**

**“Glad to have disappointed you.” MacCready snarked back at them, setting his shoulders back.**

**“You can play the tough guy all you want. But if we hear you’re still operating inside Gunner territory, all bets are off. You got that?”**

**MacCready laughed bitterly. “You finished?”**

**“Yeah...we’re finished.”**

**“Come on, Barnes.” The two men shot one last look at Rowan and then stalked out.**

**Now MacCready turned to him, crossing his arms. “Look, if you're preaching about the Atom or looking for a friend, you’ve got the wrong guy. If you need a hired gun...then maybe we can talk.”**

**Rowan snorted, pushing himself up a bit more. The room gave another turn around him and he braced himself on the arm of the sofa. “Hired gun, sure. Sure.” He considered this. He hadn’t ever traveled around much with anyone else before, besides Preston or Codsworth when he’d first defrosted. He glanced past MacCready to where the man’s rifle sat. Definitely a sniper. Rowan grinned at him. “How’s 300 caps to watch my back?”**

**He definitely had not gotten the hang of how many caps something was worth.**

**“Serious?”**

**“Serious.”**

**“Well, you’ve got yourself a gun, then.”**

**“Great. First order of business, get me to a fucking toilet.” Rowan pushed himself up from the sofa, stumbling forward a step. MacCready caught his arm.**

Rowan was not sure to this day why MacCready had taken a chance on him, considering how drunk he was and how MacCready had had zero guarantee that Rowan even  _ had _ 300 caps around. But he would be eternally grateful that it had worked out. Rowan wasn’t sure where he’d be now if MacCready had said no. He’d probably be dead. 

“You remember the night we met?”

“Yeah, some assh-...some loser comes in while I’m being threatened by two Gunners and just plops down on a couch to watch like it’s a spectator sport. Drunk off his face.”

Rowan broke out laughing and reached over to dig his canteen out of his pack. He sipped the water and shook his head, thinking over it again.

“Why did you agree? How did you even know I had the caps?”

“I didn’t.” MacCready reached to take the canteen from him and had some himself. “You were so drunk you offered me 300 right off, which is 100 more than I would’ve asked for. I figured if you didn’t end up having it, it was just one night lost. I took a chance.”

“It paid off?”

“It paid off.” MacCready confirmed, closing the canteen and setting it between them. 

“Even though we’re currently sitting in a cave, soaking wet, in nothing but our underwear?”

MacCready looked down at himself, as if only just realising how ridiculous it was they were both sat there with almost nothing covering them. He got a glint in his eye and then looked back at Rowan. “Well, it's one way to get you out of your clothes.”

As he said it they both burst out laughing. Rowan knew MacCready was joking, but still, it lit his gut up with a dozen tiny fireworks and he hoped the glow from the fire concealed the heat he felt in his cheeks. 

“You could just ask next time.” He smirked, stretching his hands out the flames. 

MacCready cleared his throat, shifting. Rowan wondered if he’d just gone too far, but couldn’t tell from the mercenary’s face. He moved to stoke the fire and add some of the dry wood to it. The fire was holding up surprisingly well.

“Is your bedroll wet?” Rowan asked.

“Yeah. Used the plastic to keep my rifle dry.”

“We can share mine then.”

MacCready nodded, so Rowan set to work clearing a flat area beside the fire and laying out the sleeping pad and blankets.

“I don’t think the fire will last all through the night.” He commented, slipping under the blanket on the side further from the fire.

“Nah, but we’re lucky we got as much of a fire as we did.” MacCready joined him under the blanket, lying on his side facing the fire. 

Rowan watched him for half a minute before he turned onto his side, too, with his back against MacCready’s. The heat of MacCready’s bare skin against his own was devilishly comforting, and he fell asleep almost immediately.

When he woke again, he wasn’t sure if it was because of MacCready’s shivering body shaking against him, or if it was because the fire had gone out and the cave was freezing cold. In his sleep-blurred mind, he didn’t care to figure it out. Trying to keep his body as small as possible to avoid letting any heat escape, Rowan turned over, putting an arm over MacCready and pulling him against his chest. 

Because of their height difference, Rowan’s long legs fit perfectly behind MacCready’s bent knees. It was also thanks to Rowan’s size that he was able to keep himself much warmer than his smaller companion.

MacCready mumbled something that might have been a thanks, body slowly stopping it’s incessant trembling. Rowan rubbed his hand up and down MacCready’s arm, using the friction to warm him further. Eventually, he stilled, throwing his arm over the mercenary’s middle and drifting back to sleep.

In the morning, he woke to a thin shaft of sunlight from the cave’s mouth and his nose pressed into the crook of MacCready’s neck. In the night, turning and folding himself around MacCready had seemed like the natural thing to do -- and maybe it had been -- but now in the light of day, he felt a little too relaxed about it. Especially because MacCready smelled so strong and so unique and so intensely, comfortingly,  _ familiar _ . 

Feigning continued sleep, he rolled over, reluctantly pulling himself away from their shared warmth. It turned out to be a good idea, considering the usual stiffness in his shorts that accompanies waking in the morning. Hoping MacCready was still asleep, he pushed himself up and reached for his pants, getting them on as quickly as he could. He shivered in the morning chill, shimmying into his shirt as he headed out of the cave to relieve himself.

Outside the rain had stopped, and, as usual, the world outside was overcast and dim, with a dryness to the air that Rowan wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to. He picked a tree a few feet away and pissed on its exposed roots.

When he got back inside the cave MacCready was sitting up, shirt replaced and sipping water from the canteen. 

“Morning.” Rowan commented, accepting the canteen and taking a couple swigs himself. MacCready nodded, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Sleep okay?” He asked, standing up to put on his pants.

Rowan carefully averted his eyes to the remnants of their fire. “Yeah, you?”

“Yeah.” MacCready excused himself outside as well, leaving Rowan to fold up his blankets and sleeping pad, and buckle on his light armour.

When they were both set to go, they left the cave, heading back out on the road. As they walked Rowan fiddled with the Pipboy on his wrist, setting their location on the map. His head kept replaying what had happened in the middle of the night. Part of him felt a little robbed, like when you wake up from a good dream and try and force yourself to go back to sleep so it can continue.

_ Don’t be fucking dumb. _ He cursed himself, rolling his shoulders back and trying to shake it off.  _ It didn’t mean a damn thing. _

It wouldn’t be until much later that MacCready admitted to him he’d been thinking the exact same thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idec how stereotypical this situation is, it made my gay soul happy. Thanks for reading :D ♥


	5. Rebirth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rowan fresh outta the vault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not exactly relevant to Mac/Rowan romance but some character development for darling Rowan! Enjoy :D

When Rowan emerged from Vault 111 it was like being reborn. The air outside was sharp, biting into his skin like static. He felt like the fluids were sucked out of him, leaving him like a dried corpse pawing at the ground, eyes watering from the brightness of the new world.

He gasped, bracing himself in a crouch until his eyes adjusted. Everything that had been there less than an hour ago was gone. It was brown, yellow, rust. Abandoned vehicles, shipping crates, machinery. And corpses. Sun bleached bones shining through bits of disintegrating fabric. So many of them. How were the skeletons so clean already?

Stumbling to his feet, Rowan felt for the 10mm pistol he’d tucked into the back of the old jeans he found in the vault. There was no chance he was going out in that crazy blue suit. He left that down below with... _Nora_ . He moaned, clutching his head and letting out a wail. _This isn’t happening. This is a dream._ He stumbled down the path, back in the direction of home.

The trees were barren, grasses shriveled and stunted in the powdered earth. The creek smelled of stagnation. Rowan crossed the now rickety bridge, and then stopped short, gazing up at what had become of Sanctuary. The houses were broken down, faded, rusting. The cars looked like they hadn’t been touched in 100 years. Only an hour had passed, how was this possible? How was any of this possible?

“Shaun?” He called, climbing the bank and heading down the street toward their house.

_Nora. Oh my god, Nora._

In front of his house was Codsworth, looking nearly as dilapidated as the houses.

“C-Codsworth?”

“Sir!” Codsworth spun, lowering the clippers he’d been using on the hedge out front.

_This has to be a dream._

“Oh, sir! As I live and breathe!” The robot waved his arms in excitement. “It’s really you!”

“This isn’t happening.” Rowan looked at the house, the sunken plastic remnants of their halloween decorations visible through the window. And their bed. The bed they’d picked out the week before their wedding. He reeled, turning away from Codsworth and emptying the contents of his stomach into the bushes. His breakfast of sugar bombs was still there, pink and blue and orange in the puddle of sick.

“Are you quite alright, sir?” Codsworth asked, hovering a little closer. Rowan held up a hand to keep him back a few paces.

“What happened here?”

“You seem a little worse for wear!” The robot babbled. “Best not let the wife see you in that state. Where is Mrs Buffalocalf, by the way?”

Rowan wanted to break him in half. “She’s...Oh, jesus. She’s dead.” He stumbled away from his vomit and fell to his knees, tears breaking down his face. “Did you see anyone, Codsworth? Did anyone come by here?”

“Only Ms Rosa’s boy! All dressed in his Halloween costume...And a week early, too! I swear, the nerve of that woman -”

“Enough!” Rowan snapped. “I need to find Shaun, they’ve taken him.”

“Sir...These things you’re saying...These terrible...terrible things...I...believe you need a distraction! Yes, a distraction to calm the dire mood! It’s been ages since we’ve had a proper family activity! Checkers. Or perhaps charades? Shaun does - “

“What is wrong with you? Can’t you understand what I’m saying to you?” Rowan was ready to pull out the gun and shoot him. “It doesn’t make sense. Why would somebody do this? Why would they take him?”

“You must be suffering from hunger-induced paranoia! Not eating properly for 200 years will do that, I’m afraid.”

“Wait…” That got Rowan’s attention. He pushed himself up from the ground. “200 years? What do you mean 200 years?”

“A bit over 210, actually, sir. Give or take a little for the Earth’s rotation -”

“Stop! Stop it!”

Codsworth hovered back a few paces, metal arms clicking as he moved, giant eyes blinking rapidly a few times.

“I...I…” The robot struggled. “Oh, sir! It’s been horrible. Two centuries with no one to talk to, no one to serve.” His voice broke, sounding like he would be crying electric tears, were that possible. “I spent the first ten years trying to keep the floor waxed, but nothing gets nuclear fallout from vinyl wood! Nothing!”

Rowan swallowed, trying to process this information. _200 years? 200 fucking years?_

“And don’t get me started on the car! Oh, the car! How do you polish rust?”

“What do you know?” Rowan demanded.

“I’m afraid I don’t know anything, sir. The bombs came, and all of you left in such a hurry! I thought for certain you and your family were...dead.” He paused. “I did find this holotape. I believe mum was going to present it to you. As a surprise. But then, well...everything happened.”

Codsworth procured the tape, passing it to Rowan, who examined it. ‘Hi honey!’ was written on it in Nora’s cursive. He shoved it in his pocket.

“Have you seen anyone dangerous?” He asked firmly, wiping any remaining tears from his face. Inside, he felt himself harder. The soldier in him was slowly returning.

“Oh, just the usual, sir. Pesky neighbourhood dogs and mosquitoes. Shall I investigate?”

“Lead the way.” Rowan replied, pulling the gun out of the back of his jeans.

 

\----

 

After the initial exploration of Sanctuary, Rowan sat down with Codsworth and made the robot tell him everything. From the day of the bombs, to the initial impact of the fallout, to the years and years of being alone. The slow transformation of the animals from what they had been to what they were now. Ghouls, blood bugs, brahmin. The traders and wanderers who had passed through seeking some kind of refuge.

“At least there are other survivors.” He said finally, once he had sat in silence for awhile trying to process everything he’d been told.

“Not always the nicest folk, though, sir.” Codsworth said mournfully, thruster pulsing as he bobbed up and down.

“That’s no different than before.” Rowan replied with a sigh. “What do I do now?”

“I would head down to Concord, if I were you, sir! There are people there, still.”

“People in Concord?”

“Yes, sir!”

Rowan stood up. He didn’t want to stay in Sanctuary a moment longer, that was for sure. Not when all of this was so bizarre and raw. _Maybe someone in Concord will have seen the man who took Shaun._

“Do you remember the way?” Codsworth asked.

He laughed bitterly. “Codsworth, for me, I was only gone for an hour.”

“Very well, sir. Shall I accompany you?”

“No, I’ll go alone. Keep an eye on this place.”

Codsworth moved out of his way, and Rowan headed out toward the bridge at the edge of the suburb. At the other side, he got his first look at a post war human. The man had been attacked by what looked like some kind of strange hairless dog with mottled skin. It looked like they had taken each other out, as the dog had bloody hole from a bullet in its neck.

The man had hair fallen out in patches, and was wearing a strange assortment of faded ripped leather and plaid, along with some sort of crude makeshift armour. He had a shotgun gripped in his fingers, and Rowan stooped to pick it up.

Both corpses were fresh, and didn’t stink yet, beyond the ripe body odour coming from the man. The dog smelled of burning flesh. Rowan shivered, despite there being no chill. He rifled through the man’s pockets, finding more ammunition for the shotgun as well as a pouch filled with...bottle caps? He frowned, pocketing it just in case. Once he’d taken everything of interest, he set out down the road toward Concord, shotgun at the ready.

The events that followed that day were blurry and dreamlike in Rowan’s memory. Finding Dogmeat at the Red Rocket, the raiders in Concord, the remnants of the Minutemen with Preston Garvey and Sturges. Jun sitting and rocking on the floor, mumbling to himself. Rowan wondering if it wouldn’t be easier to just sit down there with him and do the same.

Power armour, laser weapons, the terrible monstrosity that was a deathclaw. Killing came back to him easily, like he’d never been out of the fight. Having sensed that being from a vault would be seen as a weakness, Rowan carefully kept this to himself. If Preston had suspected, he didn’t say anything.

Rowan repeated the description of Shaun’s kidnapper ( _Nora’s murderer!_ ) to himself over and over, memorising every detail so he would never forget.  

“Your answers lie in Diamond City.” Mama Murphy told him. “Your son, your son.” She moaned, holding her head like the words brought her pain.

He wasn’t sure why, but Rowan believed her. How else could she have known he had a son? His Grandmother had had a similar gift. People came to their reservation from the nearby towns and cities just to have her read their “fortune”. She was something of a local legend. Having something familiar like this in the wake of the tragedy that had become his life was oddly comforting. If it hadn’t been for her, he’s not sure he would have joined the Minutemen at all.

Rowan couldn’t stay in Sanctuary, though. Not after he’d returned with Preston and seen Shaun’s crib still in its same place. He remembered picking out that crib with the Nora, the day they’d found out they were having a boy.

Instead, he set himself up at the Red Rocket. He dragged an old mattress into the area behind the front counter, setting up a makeshift bedroom for himself. Not that he slept much. The world was full of strange new noises in the night, like the unfamiliar sounds of a house you’ve never stayed in before.

Preston asked him to help some settlers at a nearby farm, but at first he said no. He needed to get to Diamond City, like Mama Murphy had said. Preston seemed to understand, because he didn’t press it.

“Well, when you come back maybe we could go together.” Was all he said, lifting his old militia hat to scratch at his brow. Rowan found all of that hilarious in a dark way, the fact he called himself a Minuteman and dressed like he had stepped out one of the museum displays in Concord.

“Right, sure.” Rowan agreed for the sake of ending the conversation. He set out the next morning, pack filled with an assortment of irradiated foods, stimpaks, and cans of purified water. He’d scoured the place for some kind of rifle before he left, but hadn't been able to find something that fit his style. In the military, he’d been a sniper. Even though with his tall stature and broad shoulders he may have been well suited to hand to hand combat, he’d never liked it. He far preferred to be away from the action, where he had more control over the situation. It helped that he had eyesight to rival a hawk and steady hands.

Rowan’s return to the life of a soldier, even a rogue one, was reluctant. A few years before he and Nora had married and moved to Sanctuary, he had resigned from the army. He’d had enough of killing and serving, and wanted to work a normal job so he could save up more money and provide a home for his family. He’d ended up working as a mechanic in a garage and eventually even was promoted to manager.

His life had improved so much, he finally felt content. Even the nightmares that had plagued him since his time in service decreased to the point he could sleep most nights. He and Nora had friends, would meet up for drinks and card games, made play dates for Shaun and spent Sunday afternoons at the park. And now he was thrown back into the chaos again. He would never forgive this cruel new world for taking that away from him.


	6. A Little Harmless Thievery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry Poole is a jackass.

“I don’t know why you had to stick your nose into that.” MacCready said darkly, flipping up the collar of his jacket and adjusting his scarf. “ _ Our _ noses.” He corrected himself.

“And I don’t know why you have to be such an asshole.” Rowan replied sharply, stopping to stare at the mercenary. “You have your caps, you don’t have to be here.” He added, adjusting his pack.

They were standing outside the Colonial Taphouse, after having confronted Henry Cooke about his affair with Darcy Pembroke. He’d done it as a favour to Paul, who he’d seen crying in the street. Rowan didn’t like to see anyone that upset, and especially not when it was hurting his kid, too. MacCready, obviously, didn’t share the sentiment.

“I just don’t like doing something for nothing. You didn’t even try and get some caps out of the deal!” MacCready retorted.

“Oh, don’t worry.” Rowan grinned cheekily at him. “We’re going to get some caps.”

The sun had set, and the lights around Diamond City were in full fluorescent force. 

“What d’you mean?”

Rowan checked both ways, and, not seeing any members of Diamond City Security, he cut up the metal staircase he knew lead to Cooke’s apartment. 

“What the f-...what the hell, boss?” MacCready hissed, following him. They were both proficient enough at stealth that they barely made a sound, even on the echoey steel steps.

He looked back at his companion, pressing a finger over his lips. “Shut up, Mac.”

At the top, Rowan dropped to one knee in front of the door, grabbing for his lockpicking kit from the pouch on his hip. “Cover me.” He whispered, and MacCready grunted, but did as he was told, looking down over Diamond City to make sure they weren’t spotted.

Rowan fiddled with the lock, carefully maneuvering and twisting the bobby pin until everything aligned and the lock clicked open. “We’re in.” 

Muttering under his breath, MacCready followed him inside. The place smelled like cheap cologne and booze, which didn’t surprise Rowan in the least.

Once they did a quick sweep and determined they were alone, they started to rifle through his things.

“Won’t this be fairly obvious, boss?” MacCready asked, lifting the lid on a trunk to check inside.

“Obvious?” Rowan picked up a bottle of Nuka Cola and popped the top off, taking a few swigs. 

“That it was us who broke in?”

Rowan shrugged. “I don’t care, do you?”

MacCready contemplated this for a second and then shook his head, hiding a grin. Likely he didn’t want Rowan to know he wasn’t pissed off about doing a good deed anymore.

On the second level, Rowan found a whole array of chems. Psycho, jet, buffout, med-x. Every type you could think of. “He’s got an entire pharmacy up here.” He called down to MacCready, who swung up the ladder behind him.

“You’re not joking.” He replied. “We should sell them.”

Rowan frowned, but was hardly in a position to argue. It wasn’t his usual style to redistribute drugs, but they were always in demand somewhere. If he didn’t do it, someone else would. MacCready passed him his pack, and Rowan held it open so he could load it up.

They also found lots of ammo, guns, and a stash of caps. They took the ammo, stripped any mods off the guns, and pocketed the caps. 

“This is a nice haul.” MacCready commented, closing up his pack and throwing it over his shoulder.

“See, we did a nice thing  _ and _ came out on top.” 

MacCready scowled at him, so Rowan shoved his shoulder. 

“We done?”

“Yeah, let’s get out of here.” Rowan popped the door open a crack, checking the way outside was clear. Once he was sure it was, they headed back out.

 

\---

 

They were staying at Piper’s as they sometimes did when they were in Diamond City. Outside her door, Rowan stopped MacCready with a hand on his arm.

“Not a word to Piper, got it? You know she doesn’t like any of that thieving shit.” 

MacCready nodded. “Yeah, I got it.”

Inside, Rowan could hear Piper upstairs reading to Nat. He left his pack on the floor and peeled off his jacket and light armour, tossing himself down onto the sofa. He watched MacCready do the same. 

MacCready sat on the opposite end of the sofa, arms crossed. From the little scowl on his face, Rowan could tell he was still trying to keep up his anger.

“Still pissed at me, huh?” Rowan asked quietly, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice. 

“I just don’t get why you have us doing so much for free. There are more important things to do.”

“What can I say? I get off on it.” Rowan leaned back, crossing his arms behind his head. MacCready looked at him with an open mouth, but realised Rowan had been joking.

“I’m serious, boss!” He sat forward, elbows on his knees. 

“I know, I know.” Rowan sighed. “The institute trail keeps going cold, and I need some way to feel useful.”

“It’s more useful to get caps!” MacCready grabbed fistfulls of his own hair, tugging at it. “And,” He added, “Some of us have bigger concerns than fixing other people’s family drama.”

By the tone of his voice, Rowan could tell he had something pretty specific in mind. “What’re you saying?”

“I’m saying…” He sighed chewing the inside of cheek. “Nevermind.”

Rowan sat forward, too, looking at MacCready with concern. “No, what is -”

“What did you two get up to?” Piper asked, coming down the stairs.

MacCready looked up at her. “Hey, Pipes.” He stood up. “I’m going to turn in, if it’s all the same.”

“Sure, don’t let me stop you.” Piper shrugged, hands on her hips. Once MacCready was behind the half wall of cinder bricks where he and Rowan had rolled out their bedrolls, Piper raised her brows. Rowan knew there was a question there like ‘what’s up with him?’, but he didn’t know the answer to it. He threw his hands up in frustration and shook his head. He had no idea.

“Long day, Blue?” She asked, coming to sit beside him.

“Always.” Rowan rubbed at his eyes, yawning. “Yours?”

“Oh, yeah. You know, seeking out the truth is a full time job.” She grinned at him.

Rowan laughed, giving a playful push to her shoulder. “We needed more people like you in the old world.” He commented.

“Aw shucks, Blue. You’re gonna make me blush.”

“Don’t go getting a big head.” He winked at her and then stood up. “I’m going to turn in, too. Thanks for letting us crash here again.”

“Anytime.” Piper pushed herself up and headed for the stairs. “Night.”

“Night.” Rowan walked over to where MacCready was already lying down, facing the wall. He pulled his shirt off over his head and kicked off his boots. When he was lying down, he turned to face MacCready’s back. Rowan had suspected for quite some time that there was something the mercenary wasn’t telling him, something painful that he hadn’t managed to spit out yet. He understood better than most what that was like. He swallowed.

“You can talk to me about it, you know. I’ve always got your back.” He said is softly, watching MacCready’s back for any sign of a response. When he didn’t get one, he sighed and rolled over onto his back. 

Piper shut off the remaining lights upstairs, and the place turned black. He stared up, blinking slowly as his eyes adjusted a little. The familiar whir of the questionable Diamond City electricity lulled him into the beginning stages of sleep.

“Thanks.”

  
At first, Rowan wasn’t sure if he’d made it up or not, but then he heard MacCready shift along with the word. He smiled a little, not conscious enough to respond before he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is fairly short/pathetic. i came up with a bit of an outline so i have more of a direction when i write these things. i promise a lot more juicy stuff is coming soon, sorry they've been so bland. who knew this was going to be such a slow burn? hahaha.


	7. Radstorm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *gayness intensifies*

“Have you ever been with another man?”

MacCready’s question caught Rowan off guard. It was the middle of the night and they were sitting around the fire in their makeshift campsite, next to an old wooden hut. They were about half deep into a bottle of whiskey and, apparently, MacCready was feeling it.

Rowan cocked a brow. “Uh, before Nora, yeah. A few.”

MacCready nodded, taking another shot from the bottle. 

“Why? You thinking about it?”

The mercenary blushed twelve different shades of red and hunched his shoulders, adjusting his scarf higher up around his neck. He looked like a turtle trying to retreat into it’s shell. Rowan chuckled, snatching the bottle out of his hand.

“You’ve had too much of this shit.”

“You don’t gotta be like that.” MacCready snapped at him.

“Sorry, sorry. Why are you actually asking?”

“I was just curious.” He replied.

Rowan shrugged. “Yeah, I’ve never cared too much about whether someone is a guy or a girl or wherever in between.”

“But you must’ve wanted a family.” MacCready questioned, loosening up a bit.

“Yeah, I did. I do. Families come in all shapes, though. If Nora hadn’t been able to have kids ‘cause she had a dick or whatever, we would’ve adopted. That’s just details. The important part is love.” Rowan shrugged.

MacCready seemed to be thinking about this pretty hard, because he was glaring at the fire and chewing at the inside of his cheek like he was starving. 

“What’s bugging you?” Rowan asked after a minute or two of silence.

“I’ve got a kid.” MacCready blurted out. This took Rowan by surprise. He knew that MacCready had had a girl, Lucy. He knew she’d been torn apart by ferals in front of him. This part of the story, though, he hadn’t heard.

“You do?”

MacCready sighed, taking the bottle back from Rowan. “Yeah. Duncan.”

Rowan waited for him to say more, but he didn’t offer any more information. “Where?”

“Capital Wasteland.” MacCready scratched his cheek. “We lived on a farm. But he got sick.”

Rowan held his breath, hands clenched into fists on his thighs.

“One day he’s out playing in the field, and the next he took fever and these blue boils popped up all over his body. Last I saw him he was almost too weak to walk. I came down here chasing a rumour there was a cure. In some kind of medical research centre near here. Honestly, though, I don’t even know how much longer he can make it.” His voice choked on the end of the sentence, and he covered it by taking another swig.

“Jesus christ, Mac.” Rowan let out his breath in one gust. “Why haven’t you told me this before?”

MacCready shrugged. “I felt like I owed you so much already, especially after Mass Pike -”

“That’s ridiculous, of course I’ll help you with this. It’s your son.” Rowan was honestly a little angry MacCready hadn’t bothered mentioning this very important detail before.

MacCready looked ashamed. “I’m not used to people going out of their way to help me. I think I was pretty worried you’d say no.”

Rowan scooted closer to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I told you before, I’ve got your back. We’re friends, right?”

“Rig-” MacCready started, and then froze, hearing the first telltale clicks of the geiger counter on Rowan’s Pipboy. Radstorm. 

“Shit.” Rowan stood up, looking around. “We’ll have to cover in this shack.”

MacCready followed his lead, grabbing their packs and following him inside the door. It was tiny inside, likely used for something like storing firewood - just big enough for them to stand facing each other, with their packs at their feet. 

Rowan reached down to get a couple doses of Rad-x from his pack, and passed one to MacCready. After they dosed up, they stood in silence in the relative darkness. Outside, the wind howled and the air crackled with radiation. 

“You’re a good friend, Rowan.” MacCready told him quietly.

Rowan felt an inexplicable chill roll down his spine and he crossed his arms. “You are too, Mac.”

“I mean it, I don’t deserve how good you’ve been to me.”

“Don’t say that.” Rowan frowned, reaching out with one hand to touch his shoulder again. Here, this close, in the dark, the touch felt right.

MacCready swallowed, and lifted up a hand to rest over top of Rowan’s. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Rowan brushed his thumb down the side of MacCready’s hand. When MacCready reciprocated the tiny stroke, Rowan felt a fire light in his gut. He looked down, feeling both like it was natural and uncomfortable all at once. He’d had this bizarre feeling inside he’d been trying to ignore. It’d been there since he saw MacCready jacking off in their room at the Rexford.

MacCready dropped his hand again, so Rowan withdrew as well, leaning back against the wall. “How old is he?”

“Duncan? Six.” 

“You and Lucy?”

“Yeah, when the ferals hit I grabbed him and ran. I couldn’t keep her safe.” MacCready’s pain was thick in his voice.

“I’m so sorry.”

MacCready nodded. “Me too.”

“You can always talk to me about it, you know.” Rowan said gently. “You know I understand.”

The mercenary sniffed and rubbed at his nose. “I know you do.”

Rowan reached out, drawing MacCready into a tight embrace. His fingers poked through the hair on the back of MacCready’s head, and his nose dipped down to rest on his shoulder.

MacCready relaxed into him, hands resting on Rowan’s shoulder blades. They stood together like this for a while, feeling each other breathe. Rowan pulled back a little first, and they wound up with their foreheads pressed together.

Suddenly it felt like there was no air. Rowan sucked in his breath, hands shaking a little as they stopped on either side of MacCready’s neck. It was hard to see in the dark, but it felt like they were watching each other. 

Alcohol taking the reigns in his mind, Rowan leaned in a little closer, lips ghosting over MacCready’s cheek. They both shivered, and Rowan pressed a tiny kiss to the corner of MacCready’s lips. It wasn’t full centre enough to be a real kiss, but definitely more than a kiss on the cheek. 

Outside, a boom of thunder clapped, startling them both. MacCready jumped back from Rowan, who cleared his throat and let out a nervous bark of laughter. “Damn storm.”

“Yeah.” MacCready agreed. “Sounds like it’s moving off, though.”

Rowan nodded. In a few more minutes, his geiger counter stilled to silence and the storm had passed. 

MacCready pushed open the door to the shack and picked up his pack. Before he could step outside, Rowan stopped him.

“Did I step out of line?”

  
“Nah, boss. We’re good.” MacCready replied nonchalantly, not looking at him. Without another word, he stepped back out into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tfw you're considering if having a gay family is even possible because you're maccready and you're fucking oblivious. ;D eheheheeee.


	8. Bar Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *GAYNESS INTENSIFIES FURTHER*  
> there is a bar fight and maccready is a little bit too happy about it. ;)  
> (explicit)

“Filthy Gunner fuck.” The man spit at MacCready as they walked past him in the bar, just leaving after a night of too much drinking. MacCready had already been fired up about something, so this set him off extra.

“What’d you say to me?” He demanded, rounding on the man who grinned smugly at him over his drink. 

“You heard me, boy.”

“You piece of fuc-”

“That’s enough, Mac.” Rowan said, tugging on his arm. “Not worth it.”

MacCready shook Rowan off of him, turning back to the brute. “Stand up and say that to my face.”

The man did, setting his drink aside and standing up, coming to tower over MacCready, hands on his hips. He was at least two feet taller than him. “You’re a filthy Gunner fuck.”

“Come on, Mac.” Rowan said more firmly. “Listen sir, can we drop this? We don’t want any trouble. We were leaving anyway.” He said to the man, tugging on MacCready again.

MacCready gave in this time, letting Rowan steer him toward the door of the Dugout. 

“That’s right, take your little cunt home. Keep him on a leash next time.”

This made Rowan reel. He let go of MacCready and flipped around, returning to the man, who, compared to MacCready, did not have much of a height advantage. He grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and, without any warning, rammed his head into him with a force that knocked the man backwards into his table. It collapsed beneath his weight, sending him crashing onto his back, drink spilled and glass broken. Rowan felt a tingling heat along his hairline and reached up to find the skin was split and bleeding. He didn’t bother to wipe away, instead letting it drip down between his eyes and over the bridge of his nose. 

“What kind of fucking piece of shit uses anatomy as a slur.” He growled, and spun on his heel, hauling a stunned MacCready out with him.

Behind him, Vadim was cursing, yelling after him that he owned him for damages. Rowan ignored him. He’d settle up later. 

Outside he started storming down the alley, back toward Piper’s, where they were staying for the night again.

MacCready caught up, hands in his pockets. Rowan looked down at him, raw anger still pounding through his body. As he looked, he saw the mercenary adjust himself through his pants, clearly not realising Rowan was staring right at him.  _ Does he?...Did he just…? _

Rowan stopped short, inhibitions dimmed with alcohol and blurted out, “Did that just give you a hard on?”

MacCready stopped what he was doing and looked up in shock, a deep blush spreading from his neck up to the crown of his head within seconds. There was no doubt he looked guilty as hell.

“W-what?”

“It did, didn’t it?” Rowan replied incredulously.

“You’re crazy.” MacCready turned away and started walking again.

Rowan, knowing very well what he’d just seen, grabbed MacCready by the arm and pulled him back, pushing him into the shadows between two buildings and pressing him against the wall. He held him there with a single hand centered on his chest.

“Say it.” Rowan demanded in a cool voice, feeling his own body begin to flush and stir.

“What?”

“Tell me that it turned you on.”

“Come on, Rowan -”

Rowan took the hand off of his chest and used it to cover his mouth instead. With his free hand, he boldly took MacCready’s, and pressed it against the quickly hardening bulge in Rowan’s own pants. He closed the remaining distance between them, noticing how MacCready had started to tremble, looking straight into his eyes.

“Tell me, Mac.” He removed his hands from him altogether, but kept his close proximity. 

MacCready’s hand dropped back to his side, but he looked up at Rowan with a fierceness in his eyes. “It fucking turned me on.”

That completely undid Rowan. “Fuck.” He pushed their bodies together, wrenching MacCready’s head up and kissing him hard - so hard that their teeth knocked together. Neither of them seemed to care. MacCready’s hands came up to grip the collar of Rowan’s jacket, pulling him as close as he could get and then slamming him back against the adjacent wall.

Rowan grunted, his head hitting the metal behind him and he took MacCready by the hips, grinding them together and letting out a moan when the mercenary bit into his lower lip. The blood from the cut on his forehead had dripped down to coat his lips, and he could taste it as MacCready’s tongue pushed between his teeth.

They struggled back and forth, pushing each other roughly into the walls, hands hot and hurried, grasping and groping in the dark. Rowan ducked his head to nip and suck at MacCready’s neck, while his hand slipped down the front of the mercenary’s pants, moaning when he reached the tight wet skin, already slick with precum. 

“Fuck.” He gasped into MacCready’s neck, dragging his teeth behind the word and pumping his hand up and down. ”You’re so hard, Mac.”

MacCready clung to the back of his shirt, burying the noises he was making into Rowan’s shirt, hips twitching in response. 

Rowan removed his hand, and, giving MacCready a final push back against the wall, he dropped to his knees, unclasping his belt and tugging down his pants just enough to free him. Maintaining eye contact the entire time, Rowan hungrily look MacCready inside his mouth, sucking hard and swirling his tongue around the tip, letting saliva drip down the shaft. He was completely enraptured by seeing his own blood smeared across MacCready’s lips and chin, and the glazed over pleasure raw in his eyes.

MacCready’s head tipped back, eyes sliding shut and hands coming to rest on Rowan’s shoulders. His hips moved in time with the dance of Rowan’s tongue, and it wasn’t long before Rowan could tell he was about to come; he figured it’d been a long time since anyone had touched MacCready like this. He moaned deep at the thought of it, the hum of it buzzing all the way through MacCready’s cock.

“Shit, Row-, shit, I’m - “

Rowan didn’t let him pull back, instead he took in as much of him as he could, letting the tip brush the back of his throat and sucking and swallowing until he felt the spurt of hot seed hit the roof of his mouth. He kept going a little longer, slow long sucks as MacCready completely unwound, digging his nails into Rowan’s shoulders and trying (and failing) to keep silent as he came.

Rowan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and swallowed, resting his forehead on MacCready’s stomach and catching his breath. The mercenary ran his fingers absently over Rowan’s braided hair, breath ragged. 

Rowan stood up and touched the side of MacCready’s neck, feeling the pulse jump beneath his palm. He leaned down, kissing the mercenary’s bruised lips, this time more softly, more deeply. MacCready kissed back with the same fervor, and the sweetness of it made Rowan shudder.

Just then, one of the Diamond City guards walked past, stopping when he saw them. He cleared his throat. “Move along, no loitering.”

MacCready froze. They must have looked like quite a sight, standing in the shadows with MacCready’s pants open and blood all over their faces. Rowan moved a little to block the security guard from seeing that MacCready’s pants were down. 

Rowan tried not to laugh, nodding at the guard. “Yes sir.”

Seemingly satisfied, the guard carried on. 

“I guess we should…” MacCready looked down, pulling his pants back up and fastening the belt.

“Uh, yeah.” Rowan replied, putting a step of distance between them. He wiped his head with the edge of his sleeve, clearing off some of the blood. He glanced up at MacCready. “You’ve got…” He steadied MacCready’s chin with one hand, and used his other to wipe the blood away. 

“Thanks.” MacCready was still blushing, and he looked up at Rowan hesitantly. He traced his thumb over the mercenary’s lips, swallowing hard. 

“Was this just alcohol?” Rowan asked softly, dropping his hand. 

“We are pretty drunk.” MacCready pointed out.

Rowan frowned, looking out to the alley. “I guess.”

MacCready looked down. 

“It was pretty hot though.” Rowan added mischievously, and MacCready looked back at him, grinning.

  
“Yeah, it was.” He leaned up, and they kissed again, quick and soft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omggggg. i have had this written for forever and was waiting for a good time to drop it in. i got tired of waiting so here you go! hope you enjoy ;)


	9. I Know You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rowan: *gives maccready a blowjob*  
> maccready: ...what are we?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this chapter involves some kinda mild violence kink but also a lot of explicit fighting/gore. just in case that stuff makes you uncomfortable!

The closer they got to Sanctuary, the more Rowan wanted to bring up the drunken Diamond City blowjob. They hadn’t talked about it, or even acknowledged that it happened. He was trying to give MacCready space, in case it’d freaked him out. Part of him was worried that MacCready wished it hadn’t happened at all. 

 

“Can we talk?” Rowan asked just as they were at the bottom of the hill that lead up to the Red Rocket. The journey thus far had been silent, save for when they’d been attacked by a couple wild dogs and a bloodbug.

 

“What’s up, boss?” MacCready asked.

 

“I just wanted to check if you were...okay...after what happened the other night.”

 

MacCready visibly tensed up, but kept walking. “What happened the other night?”

 

“When we…” Rowan cleared his throat. “In the alley.” 

 

“Oh,” He paused. “I kind of thought you forgot about it.”

 

“Forgot?” Rowan stopped in his tracks to stare. “I wasn’t  _ that _ drunk.”

 

“Well, I don’t know, you didn’t mention it!”

 

“Neither did you!” Rowan dragged his palms down his face. “I thought I probably scared you off. I didn’t figure you’d done anything like that before.”

 

MacCready hunched his shoulders. “I haven’t.”

 

“Exactly.” Rowan sighed, taking off his pack and settling it at his feet. 

 

“I thought you probably  _ wanted _ to forget about it.” MacCready explained.

 

“Why would I want to?”

 

“I don’t know. We were drunk. I was…” He vaguely gestured his hand. “You were…” MacCready groaned. “Then I thought, you know, with Nora…”   
  


Rowan didn’t really understand what MacCready was getting at, but hearing Nora’s name made him look away, frowning. “I’ll always love Nora.”

 

“And I’ll always love Lucy.”

 

“Right.” Rowan took a half step closer to him and his voice got softer. “But they’re not here.”

 

MacCready looked up at him, arms crossed. “Are you saying…”

 

“I don’t know, Mac.” Rowan felt his stomach churn, entirely uncertain  _ what _ it was he was trying to say. “Do you want…?” 

 

“I don’t know!” MacCready was exasperated, kicking the toe of his boot into the dirt. 

 

“This is a lot of ‘I don’t know’s.” Rowan laughed, trying to ease the awkwardness. “Look, we don’t have to figure anything out. We work well together and I enjoy your company. I don’t regret the other night. That’s enough for me.”

 

MacCready continued to kick at the ground, not looking up, not speaking.

 

“Mac?” Rowan prompted.

 

“Okay, boss.” He said finally, sighing. “Works for me.”

 

\---

 

Two days later, Rowan awoke to the sound of turret fire. He sat up in his bed, staring around wildly. Around him in the bunkhouse, other settlers began to stir, too. Then the siren started.

 

He swung out of bed and straight into his boots, not bothering to tie them or even to put on his shirt. He grabbed both his rifle and a pistol, checking they were loaded on his way down the steps. 

 

“What is it?” He yelled to no one in particular.

 

“Raiders!” Preston’s voice replied from some distance away. The powerful security lights began to flicker on, lighting the entire compound in harsh ivory light. Rowan blinked through it, heading down the road and toward the guard post at the main gates.

 

Bullets ricocheted around him, and he ducked, unsure of where they’d even come from. 

 

“Behind!” Preston called, charging past Rowan and toward the back entrance of Sanctuary. 

 

Rowan spun on his heel, and looked just in time to see the gates being broken open and a group of raiders flooding in. He dropped to one knee, readying the rifle. MacCready fell in beside him, following his lead without a sound. 

 

They both took aim, careful to avoid Preston, Sturges, and the other settlers who had rushed to defend their settlement. Rowan was able to take down three of the raiders before he ran out of bullets.

 

“I have more,” MacCready offered, scrambling to reach into his pockets. He’d been on watch with Preston that night, so he was better equipped than Rowan.

 

“No, keep them. Cover me.” Rowan stopped to tie up his boots so he didn’t trip over them, and then he was off, pistol in hand and rifle abandoned beside MacCready.

 

He yelled as he ran forward, a fierce noise like lightning crackling in the angry night. He counted about ten raiders inside the gates, with possibly more outside. One of them rushed at him, but Rowan was quicker and shot him in the neck before he could even aim his gun.

 

Blood spurted from the wound - the artery was hit. The raider dropped his weapon and held his neck, a steaming thick waterfall of red cascading over his fingers. Rowan swung a long leg and kicked him in the knee, sending him down to the ground where he fell, grasping blindly at the dirt.

 

The next raider to attack him held a barbed wire machete, and her face was painted entirely black. She swung for him, and Rowan, with nothing to block the blow, jumped out of the way. Her swing grazed his right deltoid, just enough to scratch him. Rowan hissed and raised his pistol, shooting her in the chest. 

 

She staggered, looking down at the wound before a second bullet whizzed past Rowan and hit her in the gut. MacCready’s shot. She fell, and Rowan moved on. Preston had fallen back, firing shot after shot with his laser musket. 

 

Two raiders came for Rowan at once, and he yelled, ducking one brass-knuckle punch, and blocking another aimed at his gut. He flipped his gun and used the butt of it to hit the brass-knuckle raider in temple, using the confusion the strike caused to use him as a human shield. Rowan grabbed him and shot out from under the raider’s arm, hitting the second assailant with a shot from the pistol to the thigh. As he dropped, crying out in pain, Rowan shot him in the head. It splattered, painting the dirt a gory shade of crimson.

 

Rowan thrust his knee up between the legs of the raider he had used as a shield, taking advantage of the painful distraction and forcing him down onto the ground. Rowan shot him twice in the back and then turned away, re-evaluating the situation.

 

As he turned, someone grabbed him from behind and wrapped something thin around his neck, pulling it tight. He grunted in confusion, feeling to find what was digging into his skin. It was a cable, about a half inch thick. His attacked pulled tighter, and Rowan felt it slice into his skin, cutting off his air supply. He reached back, and found the hands gripping the cable. He seized them, and with a strangled cry he dragged them over his shoulder, flinging them down onto the ground before him, flat on their back. The woman looked up with fear in her eyes as he settled his boot on her chest. With one hand he loosened the cable from around his neck so that he could breathe, and with the other he aimed the pistol at her head. 

 

Rowan pulled the trigger and the gun clicked. No bullets. The woman, realising she wasn’t dead yet, reached to her side and pulled a dagger free from its sheath, stabbing it directly into his left calf. He cried out, stumbling to the side. She jumped up, raising the blade to stab at him again.

 

Working on pure instinct, Rowan lifted his arms to try and deflect the blow. It never came, however, and when he opened his eyes again she was on the ground, blood oozing from a fresh bullet wound to the side of her head. 

 

He looked back, and saw MacCready nod. Rowan was about to say thanks, but the look of fear on MacCready’s face stopped him.

 

“Watch out!” MacCready cried, aiming his rifle at something behind Rowan.

 

“Wha -” Dumbed by the pain in his leg, he was slow to react.

 

“Duck!” MacCready called, and Rowan did as he was told, dropping to the ground just in time to see the man who had been rushing up behind him. MacCready’s rifle fired, and the man fell hard, landing half on top of Rowan.

 

Rowan shoved his body off, watching it twitch and writhe on the ground for a second before he had the sense to whack him in the head with his empty pistol, putting the man out of his misery.

 

“Clear!” Preston called from nearby, as some settlers scrambled to shut the gate. All around him, dead raiders (and, to his dismay, some settlers too) lay in the dirt, creating a little lake of blood between them. 

 

He stumbled back a few steps, heart pounding in his ears, the smell of rust and blood-induced petrichor completely enveloping his senses. Rowan’s hands started to shake and he dropped the empty pistol.

 

“General?” Preston said from beside him.

 

“Let’s round up who is still able to fight and do a perimeter sweep.” Rowan replied, and Preston nodded, calling out for Sturges to help him. 

 

“She got your leg pretty good.” MacCready came up, rifle still in his hands. Rowan turned to look at him, not fully registering his words. His body was so pumped with adrenaline, the last thing he was feeling was the pain.

 

MacCready reached up and brushed his fingers along Rowan’s neck, and they came back bloody. MacCready examined it with an intense fascination that Rowan didn’t quite comprehend, that is, until he saw the mercenary lick his lips.

 

In that instant, Rowan understood MacCready on a level he’d never grasped before, at least not consciously. MacCready got  _ off _ on this. The same way that he’d gotten a hard on after Rowan fought the man in the Dugout. The memory of a hundred clues he’d seen since meeting MacCready flashed before his eyes. Violence. Killing. Blood. It turned MacCready on. Like he needed it. And Rowan didn’t even know if it was all violence or just the sight of Rowan doing it, but he didn’t care. It didn’t matter one bit.

 

The realisation hit him straight in the cock, like it was saying ‘Yeah, you idiot. You’ve known this all along, why do you think you like him so much’. And Rowan bit his lip, snapping back to the present. MacCready suddenly seemed acutely aware that Rowan had been watching him, and maybe he’d noticed the sudden change in Rowan’s demeanor, too. 

 

He didn’t care, it didn’t matter. Rowan had figured him out. He knew exactly what MacCready needed, and he wanted to be the one to give it to him. 

 

“Come here.” Rowan barked, and MacCready snapped in attention to the command. He let Rowan drag him away from the pile of bodies and behind one of the fallen apart houses nearby. 

 

In a patch of shadow untouched by Sanctuary’s security lights, Rowan grabbed MacCready by the collar of his shirt and kissed him. His hands slipped around to the back of MacCready’s neck, holding him possessively in place. To his credit, MacCready reacted in an instant, letting the rifle drop to the ground at their feet and choosing instead to drag his nails roughly down Rowan’s bare sides. 

 

Rowan pulled back, looking him dead in the eyes. “I know you.” He growled, and the words were a revelation.

 

MacCready stared back, panting, fingers digging hard into Rowan’s hips. He looked just as angry and fierce as Rowan felt. 

 

“I  _ know _ you.” Rowan repeated, and he had no idea if MacCready really understand what he meant, so he accented it by dipping his head and biting hard at MacCready’s neck. Air hissed between MacCready’s teeth as he grimaced in pain, but the next noise he made was a low moan.

 

“Yes,” MacCready’s voice was feral as Rowan bit again and again at his neck until he could taste blood. “Fuc-,” He gasped. “I want you.”

 

Rowan pulled back, taking MacCready’s jaw in a strong grip and looking at him with hungry eyes. His thumb traced the mercenary’s open lips, nail digging in and leaving an angry line in it’s path. He let the thumb dip between his lips, and MacCready sucked it into his mouth. Black teeth bit his thumb, rotting and ugly and fucking  _ perfect _ . Rowan loved that MacCready was a mess of a creature, he loved that his face was scarred from acne and fighting, that his lips are dry, cracked, bleeding. Breath like an ashtray with charcoal teeth that matched. He loved it. Loved all of it. Every single fucking imperfection.

 

Rowan withdrew his thumb and kissed him again, slower, but with just as much of the adrenaline fueling him as when he was in a fight. Their hips locked together, as if drawn by magnets, and they rocked together over and over, pressed so tightly together there was no room for air.

 

MacCready broke away, gasping for breath but keeping the pressure of his hips in place. Rowan reached down between them, keeping his eyes on MacCready’s as he unfastened his belt, and the fly of his pants, letting the mercenary’s erection spring free. When he finished, he hiked down his own pants just far enough to escape. 

 

Their hips ground together again, and this time without the fabric in the way, the result was electric. Rowan captured MacCready’s mouth with his own and moaned into it, feeling the sound vibrate back as they kissed. His hands slid down the back of MacCready’s pants, nails digging into his ass so he could better control the rhythm of their rocking. 

 

“Boss…” MacCready choked out between kisses. The word spurred Rowan on and he shut MacCready up by sticking his tongue in his mouth, expediting the thrusts even more. MacCready freed a hand from where it had been tangled in Rowan’s loose hair, and used it to hold their cocks together, increasing the sensation exponentially. 

 

The friction was complete bliss, and their combined efforts escalated until they were a trembling, cum covered mess. Rowan couldn’t contain the noises he made as he came, so he bit down onto MacCready’s neck again, still able to taste the blood he’d drawn before. MacCready gave them both a few more slow, purposeful strokes, and then took a step back, wiping their combined efforts down Rowan’s bare chest.

 

Rowan laughed, shaky from the build up and release, and smeared his own hand down the mess too. There was something morbidly beautiful about having just made each other cum only feet away from the pile of bodies they'd left in their wake. 

  
“I hope Preston didn’t find any more raiders, because we aren’t much help.” He said, leaning forward to kiss MacCready.

 

MacCready grinned and shook his head. “We’re no help at all.” 

 

“We will have to find a bed, one of these times.”

 

“Poor chance of that with all these Minutemen around, constantly asking for the ‘General’.” MacCready snarked, taking off his scarf and using it to wipe off his hands.

 

Rowan took the scarf from him when he was done, and used it to wipe off his own hands and chest. Once they were some semblance of ‘clean’, Rowan’s reached out and touched the bite marks on MacCready’s neck.

 

MacCready covered Rowan’s hand with his own, and leaned up to kiss him. Rowan returned it whole-heartedly, and then bent a little to kiss at the marks he’d left. 

 

“We should get your leg taken care of. And your neck. And the dead bodies.” 

 

All at once Rowan remembered his calf, and in the same instant became aware of the pain.

 

“Oh, shit,” He looked down at it, seeing that it was oozing deep purple-red through his jeans. “Yeah. That fucking stings.”

 

MacCready helped him walk out, and Rowan was sure they looked more than a little guilty when Preston got back to give them the all clear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> never in my life did i think i'd be writing some violence kink but here we fuckin are. 
> 
> also i edited most of this on the bus so soz if it's messier than usual!
> 
> p.s: if you leave me comments i will marry you. seriously. okay only if you want. (pls)


	10. Turtle Lips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tfw you've got turtle lips

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw this post on tumblr comparing MacCready's lips to a turtles and it inspired me. Also I would like to thank trainthief for bringing to my attention that MacCready calls his sosu boyfriend 'handsome' and 'cowboy' so you can bet your ass I'm going to be incorporating that. ;D

In the bunkhouse the next night, Rowan woke to the sound of crying. After what had happened the last time he woke up unexpectedly at night, he was immediately alert. 

 

Something rustled nearby and he turned to look. It was Preston, who gestured for him to come closer, to his cot. Rowan got up quietly, unsure of where the crying was coming from, even though he could still hear it.  

 

Preston sat up too and leaned closer to Rowan to whisper. “It's MacCready.” He nodded across the room to where MacCready was asleep on another cot. “He's been at it for awhile, didn't want to wake him though.”

 

Rowan nodded his understanding, and crossed the room to MacCready, where he was tossing, tangled in his sheets, face caught in a grimace and tears streaming down his face. 

 

He knelt beside him, trying to think what the best way to wake him was. Rowan had seen MacCready have nightmares before, but this one seemed worse than usual. 

 

“Duncan!” The word broke from MacCready’s lips in a desperate plea. Rowan's heart twisted and he swallowed, reaching out to touch MacCready’s arm. He shook him a little, and when a little wasn’t enough, he was more firm. 

 

Maccready woke with a start and looked around wildly, finding Rowan's face and locking onto it. 

 

“Rowan?”

 

“You were having a nightmare, Mac.” Rowan said softly, reaching out to wipe some tears off of MacCready’s face. 

 

MacCready pulled away from the touch and sat up, looking around the room. “Shi- damn.” He swallowed and wiped the remaining tears off himself. 

 

“Are you okay?”

 

He swallowed hard, but didn't answer. MacCready looked away. 

 

Rowan pulled him out of bed by the arm and outside onto the balcony adjoining the sleeping quarters of the bunk house. Outside, the clicking of a turret and it's accompanying searchlight were the only sounds. The balcony served as a lookout post, facing the front gates of Sanctuary.

 

Rowan shut the door behind them and pulled up a couple chairs that were stacked against the wall. He sat in one and watched as MacCready took his time sliding into the other. He didn’t sleep topless like Rowan, but he wore a sleeveless shirt that left his arms and neck glowing in the moonlight. Rowan's hair billowed around his face and he brushed it back. 

 

MacCready’s lips fussed and trembled and Rowan knew he was going to cry again, as much as he was trying to fight it. His eyes were swiftly turning bloodshot with the effort. 

 

“Tell me about it.”

 

MacCready inhaled deeply, looking out over the railing and toward the front gates. “Just about Duncan. I didn't get back to him on time.” He shook his head and shrugged, feigning nonchalance. His acting didn’t stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks again, though.

 

“I'm not going to let that happen.” Rowan told him firmly, reaching out to touch his knee. “We're going to get that cure, Mac.”

 

MacCready nodded, looking down at Rowan’s hand where is stroked his bare knee. They were both in their underwear, but Rowan didn't mind the cold. 

 

Rowan appraised him. He was so small, so vulnerable -  especially like this. He didn't have much in the way of muscle, but he was firm enough. Without his cap covering his forehead, Rowan could see the blue of his eyes vividly. He figured they were probably the purest thing in the wasteland. 

 

“What?” MacCready asked, noticing Rowan’s eyes on him. 

 

Rowan shook his head and smiled sheepishly, not bothering to answer the question. Instead, he edged his chair a little closer and asked his own.

 

“Can I kiss you?” 

 

“Isn't it a bit late to ask permission?”

 

“I want to be sure.”

 

MacCready shrugged. “Alright then.”

 

Rowan took his time, starting by brushing the rest of the tears off of MacCready’s cheeks, and then smoothing over his brows and chin. He leaned in carefully, peppering tiny feather-light kisses across his brow, his cheeks, the sharp edges of his jaw. When he pulled back to look at the mercenary, he saw that he was crying again. 

 

“Shh.” Rowan soothed, kissing his cheeks again, just as gently. When he settled on MacCready’s lips they tasted of salt and sleep. He took care, holding himself back, being as gentle and open as he could manage and holding space for MacCready. 

 

When he pulled back, MacCready let out a sob and sagged into him, wrapping desperate arms around Rowan’s chest and holding on like something was trying to rip them apart. Rowan held him close, rubbing his back, his neck, his hair. He hummed low in his chest, a lullaby his Grandmother used to sing him. 

 

Rowan wondered how many people MacCready had ever let himself be vulnerable around. He was willing to bet it wasn’t very many. He definitely wasn’t the type to let any sort of weakness show. 

 

After a while, MacCready’s breath stilled into the crisp night, and his grip eased up. He leaned back, wiping off his face and staring down at his hands.

 

“Sorry.” He mumbled.

 

Rowan leaned forward and took both of MacCready’s small hands in his own, massaging his fingers over the calloused palms. “Don’t be.” He looked up at him, serious. “I’m honoured.”

 

MacCready scoffed, fingers twitching in Rowan’s grip. “Honoured?”

 

“Yeah,” Rowan nodded. “I like to know I can be here for you, when you’re upset.”

 

MacCready gazed up at him, considering, looking him over in the clear light from the moon. Rowan let him look, gathering his hair in one hand and letting it fall down his back. It reached down between his shoulder blades now. 

 

“You’ve been growing your hair.” MacCready commented, having followed the motion with his eyes.

 

“I have.” Rowan confirmed, winking. “Keen observation.”

 

Realising he was being teased, MacCready sat taller, bristled. “You -” He started.

 

Rowan raised a hand and cut off the coming retort, shaking his head. “I’m growing it long because that was a tradition in my culture.” He swallowed, taking a few strands of it between his fingers. “To remind me where I came from. Where my life really started. And,” He paused, grinning. “Because I like it.”

 

MacCready reached out, touching it, too. Rowan dropped his hand and let him take over. He sifted his fingers through it, and then down Rowan’s cheek.

 

MacCready swallowed, frowning. “How did someone as handsome as you wind up sticking with someone as God-awful as me?”

 

Rowan shook his head. “Don’t compliment me and put yourself down in the same sentence.” He responded firmly. “You’re gorgeous.”

 

When MacCready looked away, Rowan touched his neck, where he could still see the marks from where he’d bitten him. “You have the cutest little lips.” Rowan added with a grin, pinching his cheek loosely.

 

MacCready brushed his hand away, trying to conceal a smile. “Shut up.”

 

“I mean it! Not unlike a turtle.” Rowan leaned forward and kissed him chastely. “The cutest.”

 

MacCready shoved his shoulder, face broken out in a full on grin, despite his best attempts to quell it. “You’re such a dickhe -” His nose scrunched up in concentration. “Idiot.” He decided.

 

“If you weren’t so cute I’d probably punch you.” Rowan laughed, but then winked. “But then again, you’d probably be into that.”

 

“Hey!” MacCready blushed ten shades of crimson. Rowan couldn’t stop laughing, and, after a while, MacCready joined in.

 

“Alright, back to bed. We’ve got a lot to do tomorrow.”

 

“What?” 

  
“We’ve got a cure to find.” Rowan wagged his eyebrows and leaned forward to kiss him lightly again before they headed back inside. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know if you see mistakes because I don't have a beta! Also let me know if you like this or if you have any situational requests for oneshots/drabble/stuff in this format. I have a couple more written but that's it so any help would be rad. Thanks for reading, you're a beautiful creature.
> 
> p.s: This sosu of mine is First Nations, but I am not. So if you see me step out of line based on this, please let me know. I'm trying to be really careful about how I write him!
> 
> p.p.s: I might consider making this into an actual real fic with proper length chapters and more of a plot, depends on what you kids want.


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